Brenda at Defcon 5

For all the wrong reasons...

2006-10-06T21:14:00.000-04:00

Life has this funny way of sneaking up on you - and occasionally hitting you "upside" the head, as my dad would say.

So let's see - I'm working a second job on top of my 50-60 hours a week selling health insurance. I've been doing it for about a month now, and I have to tell you - I'm not as young as I used to be. (Nothing like stating the obvious, right?) It's tough to finish a full day and then head over to the studio for a photo shoot with 4 squads of cheerleaders - 15-20 on a squad...AND their mothers. Or getting up on a Saturday morning to meet at the studio at 5:30 so that we can be on location by 6:30 and set up by 8:00. When I'm there, it's fun, and I work with some really talented people, so it's good. But when it's over at the end of the day, I'm exhausted, and barely have enough energy to speak to my two teenagers, let alone act like a parent. NOT GOOD.

What else? First let me tell you that I am very blessed with two great teenagers. Never been in any trouble at school. They both work as well as go to school and are responsible, kind-hearted people. So while I'll write about my challenges, I do realize that I have NOTHING to complain about. I just want to be sure it stays that way.

My son turned 19 a couple of weeks ago, and as his birthday present, I flew his girlfriend up from Miami (where she goes to college). They had a great weekend and everything seemed wonderful. Except that, oh by the way, my son never let on that he was about to break up with her because long distance relationships are too hard...and why didn't he ever let me in on his little secret plan? Because he feels like he shouldn't / can't / won't talk to me about sex, girls, and relationships because he should talk to his dad. That's okay, you might say...as long as he is talking to one of his parents, right? In most cases, I'd agree with you, but considering that his dad is on wife # 3, with children by each of them, I think he'd be safer to get his advice from Cosmopolitan. But I digress.

The day after his girlfriend went back to Miami, he broke up with her and he hasn't skipped a beat since. He's going out with his buddies every night, drinking (but thank God, not driving) and can't STAND to be alone longer than it takes to shower.

I finally told him tonight that although he is 19, and perhaps doesn't feel like he should have to ask permission for every thing he does, he does live in this house as a member of this family, and that carries a certain amount of accountability. He needs to let me know when he not coming straight home from class, or work, and give me a estimate of what time he thinks he'll be home. Even more, he should be considerate enough to call me when that changes. I'm a fairly reasonable mother, so he shouldn't have much to push back about. However, I also told him that if he couldn't be considerate enough to let me know things so I don't worry, then he needs to start paying rent because he's nothing more than a boarder.

So what do you think? Am I on target or way off the mark?

Then, there's my daughter. I got this funny feeling yesterday around 1:00 p.m. so I send her a text message and asked her where she was. Her response was "why?" so I sort of knew my intuition must be in tune. Long story short, she was home - in the middle of the school day and her story was that she left campus for lunch (which is allowed) and came home, but was overcome with an upset stomach, so she didn't go back to school. Uh huh.

Last night, I sat down with her and told her that I didn't want her to think that I didn't trust her, but that I was going to request her attendance and tardy records from school, and if I found anything that I didn't know about, I was going to put a stop to her driving to and from school. She just said, "yes ma'am." So, you know me - just can't leave it alone - I asked her if she had skipped school any this year. (She is a junior in high school and has a perfect record for 9th & 10th grade.) She answered honestly and said that she had skipped 3rd block a few times. (OK, when she was younger, this is where I would have said that I was not going to punish her since she told the truth, but that I expected better, blah blah blah.) Instead this time, I said - "well, I'm not sure if I'm going to suspend your off-campus lunch privileges or take your car away for a while, but I'll let you know by the end of the weekend."

So what do you think? Do I drop the ax or just tighten the reins?

And that isn't everything, but I exhaust myself when I complain so I'm going to bed now. I must be up at 4:45 tomorrow morning for work.

I started this blog with the one truth that I still believe is irrefutable
...HOW WE SPEND OUR DAYS, IS OF COURSE, HOW WE SPEND OUR LIVES.

For the sake of love -

2006-09-18T19:36:00.000-04:00

I have lived through war, and lost much. I know what's worth the fight and what is not.

Honor and courage are matters of the bone, and what a man will kill for, he will sometimes die for, too.

And that, O kinsman, is why a woman has broad hips; that bony basin will harbor a man and his child alike. A man's life springs from his woman's bones, and in her blood is his honor christened.

For the sake of love again, would I walk through fire again.

Excerpt from The Fiery Cross

2996: A Tribute to the Victims of 9-11

2006-09-11T15:47:00.000-04:00

I have a special affection for firefighters. So I was particularly moved by the story, as it unfolded through various media reports that I found, of Christopher J. Blackwell.

What struck me the most were the comments of the people who knew and loved him. Their sense of grief was deeper than one could imagine - unless you also lost a loved one on September 11, 2001 as a result of the terrorist attacks. This great loss that turned the entire world upside down was a personal, gut-wrenching experience for people like the family and friends of Christopher Blackwell. But as deep as their grief, their sense of pride ran deeper. They had lost one who was the center of their world, yet they couldn't have been more proud of him. He loved doing what he did. His mother was quoted as saying, "He lived and died with purpose."

He had been a fireman for 20 years. On 9/11, he was assigned to Rescue Company 3 in the South Bronx. As a specialist in collapsed buildings, he gave lectures on the topic to firefighters across the country. He came from a long line of law & safety enforcement - his uncle had been a captain in the New York Fire Department and his father and a grandfather were both policemen.

At the time of his death, Firefighter Blackwell was only 42 years old. He left to mourn his passing his wife, Jane, and their three children, Alexandra, who was 15, Ryan, 13, and Samantha, 11. Mrs. Blackwell talked about how devoted he was to his family, "He didn't care where we were going or what we were doing," Mrs. Blackwell said. "When he wasn't working, he wanted to spend time with the family."

There is no doubt that Blackwell will go down in history as a hero to the world for his part in the rescue efforts on that day. But more importantly, to his family and friends, he was a husband, a dad, a son, a brother, a friend, a coworker and well-loved by all.

God bless Christopher J. Blackwell, and God bless America.

(Source: NYT: 1/27/02)

I wouldn't be in high school again for any amount of money in the world!!!!!!!!!

2006-09-07T13:02:00.000-04:00

For now, the storm has passed and all is right in my daughter's world once again. They were back together by the next afternoon... so much for resolve and conviction!

As for the boyfriend, I handed him a bar of soap when he came over that night and told him that I wouldn't hesitate to wash his mouth out with it if it happened again. He was embarassed by his own behavior and seemed genuinely sorry.

We'll see.

Until the next argument, anyway!
(Have I mentioned that I wouldn't be in high school again for any amount of money in the world?)

Drama, Trauma, and the other details in the life of a teenage girl

2006-09-05T06:56:00.000-04:00

At approximately 12:30 this morning, the phone rings. I answer it, because of course, you always think the worst at that time of night. It is my sixteen year old daughter's boyfriend (who NEVER calls the house phone) and he tells me that MY darling daughter is being an EXPLETIVE and won't answer her cell phone. Having been woken out of a sound sleep, I don't even respond to the name calling (which he has never done in my presence, but apparently he does have quite a vocabulary in that arena). My response is simply that she might be sleeping. He assures me that this isn't the case, as they have been arguing for the past hour - give or take a few minutes, and now she isn't answering her phone. I tell him that I will talk to her and hang up.

(YES, I have since given some thought to my calm response and perhaps should have handled it differently, but hey! I was sleeping!!!)

So my sixteen year old daughter walks into my bedroom immediately thereafter and asks me to turn on my light. She then proceeds to look me straight in the eyes and proclaim that she and her boyfriend of eleven and a half months "are done!" She asks me to unplug the house phone and says she is turning her cell phone off for the night. She is tired of the drama, tired of the fact that he is never happy, tired of the verbal abuse (what?), and she is done!

Please don't get the wrong impression. I'm not opposed to the break-up (and it isn't the first time,) but neither am I in favor. My approach has been that of a neutral stance all along. That seems to be the most effective with this particular child. She is a true redhead, in spirit and in temperment, so she likes to feel like she has choices and can make her own decisions. (The fact that she doesn't realize that she's being "led" somewhat is just one of the many perks of being a parent!) We have talked at great length about mutual respect in a relationship, and she has a very strong personality and a great deal of confidence on the surface. But I know my daughter and she thrives on "being loved" and I always worry that her heart will follow that path instead of leading her toward what she should do.

And as I mentioned, they have broken up before. But it has always been accompanied by a barrage of tears, sobbing, girlfriends rushing to her side for support, etc... This seems different. Such resolve, determination, single-mindedness of purpose. No second thoughts. No "what if I'm miserable without him?" But then again, it is very late. Her words and actions are being fueled by anger, and you can never tell what daylight will bring.

If we follow their normal pattern, she will return his class ring today. He will suffer greatly. She will cry at school today and call me begging to be allowed to leave early becuase she can't concentrate. I will say no, so she will transfer her anger to me for the day and by Friday, they will have reconciled.

SO, I'm taking bets. (Figuratively speaking!) Is this the beginning of NEW boyfriends to come and new teenage drama? Or is this just another breakup in the series of things with THIS boyfriend?

I'll keep you POSTED. (Get it?)

Taking You Elsewhere

2006-09-01T20:07:00.000-04:00

The journey begins...
...with anticipation
- a review of travel brochures, browsing the travel sites on the internet with no preconceived notion of where to go or how long to stay...
- a decision on accommodations - quaint hotel, all inclusive resort, cruise ship, romantic bed & breakfast or richly-appointed stately home? Always a room with a view.

Then, the route...
- cycling the back roads, a romantic train excursion, a leisurely drive on the autoroute, a get-there-fast plane trip?

The destination?

You tell me...

Tired tonight...

2006-08-31T23:00:00.000-04:00

I'm tired.

Tired of this.
Tired of that.
Tired of the clutter.
Tired of yard work.
Tired of Home Depot projects that need to be done at my house.
Tired of not knowing how to do Home Depot projects.
Tired of not wanting to learn.
Tired of people promising and not delivering.
Tired of people who relive the past and no, you can't go home again.
Tired of being interested when it only lasts for a glimpse.
Tired of yelling and screaming.
Tired of not sleeping. Or not sleeping well.
Tired of staying up for nothing.
Tired of waitng for repsonses from people who will never answer.
Tired of the old way things used to be.
Tired of hot summers and patterns that seemingly never end.
Tired of being alone.
Tired of being around people.
Tired of the way that people complain about life and do nothing to fix it.
Tired of you.
Tired of me.
Tired of people who mean well but will never change.
Tired of people carbon copying the greatest thing they saw or heard yesterday.
Tired of the bags under my eyes.
Tired of being lulled into a great conversation with no follow up.
Tired of being jaded.
Tired of being eternally at the wrong time and place.
Tired of wrong times and places.
Tired of waiting for tomorrow and something better.
Tired of waiting for "the next thing".
Tired of chasing after people who stopped talking for no reason known to me.

I'm tired of being tired.

DefCon 4?

2006-08-29T18:43:00.000-04:00

It has been crazy around here for the last week or so. I'm definitely feeling out of control with these whirlwind days - sideswiped on my way to life...

To begin with, my house is a wreck. Not just your average messy, maybe need to dust, and put away some laundry. This is more in keeping with the season - hurricane season, that is! I think I would get turned away from one of those television shows, like Clean Sweep, or whatever it is called. I'm tempted to post some pictures - just to prove that I'm not exaggerating.

In my defense, I come from a long line of "gatherers". Although my mother was very good about keeping her house clean, she hung on to every thing she ever owned. I remember being at my grandfather's house and being so curious about the boxes and boxes of STUFF he kept all over the house. So it is no surprise that I don't throw anything away...just in case we might need it some day.

Up until about a year ago, I still had every telephone bill, every utility bill (including electricity, water, cable and even cell phone) and every cancelled check that I had ever received. My best friend finallly convinced me that I didn't need them, so we had a shredding party. [Of course, it's amazing how easy it is to let go of meaningless paperwork when you have a little help from Captain Morgan & Diet Pepsi!]

And I recently went through my closet and pulled out clothes to take down to the women's shelter. But that's easy for me. It's all the other treasures that I can't part with - as I look around me right now in the dining room, I have three stacks/boxes of filing - current household bills and bank statements that I haven't touched since last September when my computer crashed and I lost my entire financial history on Quicken. Then, there are three boxes by the front door of paperback books that my dad asked me to donate to a veteran's group - they've been sitting there since June.

Behind me, there are two base cabinets in my laundry room that are full of things like 20 cans of spray paints that I bought...just in case we needed it for something; outdoor flags for a flag pole that isn't up any more, gardening supplies for a garden that I don't have, but might some day; lots of candles...which I use occasionally, but there are probably 15 dozen votives & tealights from one of those expensive home party companies. Not to mention a crate full of collectible figurines that I decided I didn't want to display but can't bring myself to part with! And then there are two stacks of boxes that belong to my sister from when she moved back to Florida in 2003...

The guest bedroom has a closet full of costumes that I've collected since my children were little, but now I can't get rid of them because I will someday have grandchildren and they will want to play, too. There is a 10 x 10 wall of bookshelves - full of books from all genres, double stacked! And a plastic unit of drawers in the corner that is full of craft supplies. Doesn't sound that bad, right? Except that I am NOT crafty at all. My mother always said that they only thing I could make was a mess, and all I collected is dust. I just keep buying things that look easy, and that I could try to make to put away for my children, grandchildren or just to prove that I could - but I have no earthly aptitude or interest in actually making anything. I just like the idea of it.

Remember in my first or second blog, when I said, "How we spend our days, is, of course, how we spend our lives"? Perhaps now you see why I'm so concerned about my cluttered, messy house...

My bedroom is the scariest sight of all. Let's just say that my two teenagers have cleaner rooms than me. But that's for another post...

"We come and go from mystery, and, in between, we try to forget."

2006-08-14T22:16:00.000-04:00

I've never been afraid of ghosts. I live with them daily, after all. When I look in a mirror, my mother's eyes look back at me; my mouth curls with the smile that lured my great-grandfather to the fate that was me.

No, how should I fear the touch of those vanished hands, laid on me in love unknowing? How could I be afraid of those that molded my flesh, leaving their remnants to live long past the grave?

Still less could I be afraid of those ghosts who touch my thoughts in passing. Any library is filled with them. I can take a book from dusty shelves, and be haunted by the thoughts of one long dead, still lively as ever in their winding sheet of words.

Of course, it isn't these homely and accustomed ghosts that trouble sleep and curdle wakefulness. Look back, hold a torch to light the recesses of the dark. Listen to the footsteps that echo behind, when you walk alone.

All the time the ghosts flit past and through us, hiding in the future. We look in the mirror and see the shades of other faces looking back through the years; we see the shape of memory, standing solid in an empty doorway. By blood and by choice, we make our ghosts; we haunt ourselves.

Each ghost comes unbidden from the misty grounds of dream and silence.

Our rational minds say, "No, it isn't."

But another part, an older part, echoes always softly in the dark, "Yes, but it could be."

We come and go from mystery, and, in between, we try to forget. But a breeze passing in a still room stirs my hair now and then in soft affection. I think it is my mother.

Excerpt from Drums of Autumn

Fear of falling...

2006-08-12T17:30:00.000-04:00

Excerpt from Voyager:

When I was small, I never wanted to step in puddles. Not because of any fear of drowned worms or wet stockings; I was by and large a grubby child, with a blissful disregard for filth of any kind.

It was because I couldn't bring myself to believe that that perfect smooth expanse was no more than a thin film of water over solid earth. I believed it was an opening into some fathomless space. Sometimes, seeing the tiny ripples caused by my approach, I thought the puddle impssibly deep, a bottomless sea in which the lazy coil of tentacle and gleam of scale lay hidden, with the threat of huge bodies and sharp teeth adrift and silent in the farthest down depths.

And then, looking down into reflection, I would see my own round face and frizzled hair against a featureless blue sweep, and think instead that the puddle was the entrance to another sky. If I stepped in there, I would drop at once, and keep on falling, on and on, into blue space.

The only time I would dare to walk through a puddle was at twilight, when the evening stars came out. If I looked in the water and saw one lighted pinprick there, I could splash through unafraid -- for if I should fall into the puddle and on into space, I could grab hold of the star as I passed, and be safe.

Even now, when I see a puddle in my path, my mind half-halts -- even though my feet do not -- then hurries on, with only the echo of the thought left behind..."What if, this time, you fall?"

I'll live my life and when it's done, I'll live again in those to come.

2006-08-09T22:34:00.000-04:00

"She calls to me from long ago; through sunlit skies; through drifts of snow. In clouds that dance upon the sea, I call to her, and she to me.

So real was she. She laughed; she cried. She loved; she lost. She lived; she died. She hoped and dreamed; so real was she. She lived a life that I may be.

The blood through which my veins does flow is the same as her's from long ago. So it will be that when I'm gone in an unborn child it will flow on.

I'll live my life and when it's done I'll live again in those to come. For I'm a bridge from she to me; from those that were, to those to be."

Found in Vital Records, Kentucky -- Darlene Caryl-Stevens

Leading by Example

2006-08-08T21:40:00.000-04:00

If you can't be a good example, you'll just have to be a horrible warning.

I have nothing - so I give it all to you...

2006-08-05T23:50:00.000-04:00

I heard this line in a song today, and the irony of it stuck with me. Just a random thought.

My daughter had friends that stayed over last night and they spent half the night decorating t-shirts and cut-off sweat pants with "JUNIORS, Class of '08". I got a kick out of their silliness and the enthusiasm with which they are facing the first day of school, Monday. I remember always being excited about the beginning of the new school year, but these girls are so confident and self-assured about everything they do. I don't see any sign of hesitation or intrepidation about the challenges that the new year will bring. I am amazed and wonder where they get it.

And then there is my son who just registered for his first year of college and will start in late August. He has so many grand ideas and plans and goals for his future. Part of me wants to "save him from disappointment" by giving him statistics on small business failures and warnings about the hard work involved. But then, on the other hand, I want him to stretch himself, to reach for the stars and expect to succeed. I don't want to squelch that spirit that believes in the possibilities, even though the grown up in me knows that things in the real world don't always work out the way we want.

I've spent my entire life as a parent trying to instill these qualities in both of them. Why now do I worry so much about failure and disappointment? I know that I survived it, and I certainly didn't have the same cheering section to get me through. This should be an interesting year. Who knows? Maybe I'll even surprise a few people with something unexpected... as soon as I think of it!

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives.

2006-08-03T23:01:00.000-04:00

True or false?

Think about it. Life is not one big event that lasts 80 or 90 years. It is a series of events, moments, little things -- chapters, if you will. And if we could cheat and read the last page first, I wonder what we would find.

Would we discover that we spent the entire time wishing for the next thing? Hoping for some pie-in-the-sky dream, instead of working toward a real goal? Pining for something that has already come and gone, rather than having the courage to open ourselves up to the day at hand?

It's all about the journey, so they tell me. So whether your Harley is an actual bike or just a figure of speech, perhaps it is time to climb on and ride.

The Next Chapter

2006-07-29T10:13:00.000-04:00

It occurs to me that it may be time to start a new chapter. The children are practically grown up, or at least no longer dependent on me for transportation. My work is more challenging than ever, but at least it is moving in the right direction. So somewhere in the middle of all of that, there has to be some time for me...

Even though I am very content, I don't want to slip into complacency. So it's time to figure out what is next...even if it means going back to where I was in 2000...